


Porrim And The Dolorosa

by Le_purple



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Casteism | Hemophobia (Homestuck), Descent into Madness, Dialogue Light, Gen, Hemospectrum, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, Painting, Rainbow Drinkers, Slavery, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 17:30:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_purple/pseuds/Le_purple
Summary: She wasn't The Dolorosa, she was Porrim.





	Porrim And The Dolorosa

Porrim waltzed down the extravagantly decorated corridor, long since having finished gawking at the beautiful scenery of icy blue and black wallpaper, and an elegant blue carpet that streaked the centre of the rich wood floor, the odd painting and bushel of flowers atop a wooden drawer on the peripherals not averting her gaze from the end of the corridor.

The Dolorosa was originally dragged to the manor as a slave in shackles and rags, those who imprisoned her attempting to extinguish her sons love. Of course she wasn't going to let that happen.

She remembered the gazes and inquisitive whispers of zealots as she entered the manor. It was her title that danced off their tongues, not her name. Her title was the only reason why her 'master' brought her in the first place, the cruel blueblood wanting to keep her as a trophy. She didn't know his name or title, only that he was to be her owner, and he was to hold her leash. He was tall and slender, looming over her with a toothy grin staining his blue painted lips. He dressed rather flamboyantly, with blue and purple shadow around his eyes, curled hair spilling down on his ruffled, white blouse and blue waistcoat, joined by a black cape that was rimmed with gold and silver. In his hand he held a cane that tapered towards the bottom, the cane ending in his finely gloved hands with a spherical blue gem.  
"So this is the Dolorosa?" Was the first thing he said, his voice carrying all the class and elegance expected of a blueblood and more, as well as all of the condescension. He leaned forward and closely inspected her, Porrim not speaking. "You're not as...grand, as I expected. Are you sure that she wasn't swapped out for another?"  
He next asked her name, a question she found quite arbitrary as he next told her that she would only be referred to as her title. A poor attempt to humiliate her.

Porrim was escorted to the servants quarters by a timid rustblood, who was infatuated with her title, having been a previous member of her sons cult. The servants quarters were...muddied quickly, but Porrim made swift work of cleaning it until even the recupracoons shone, much to the appreciation of the other servants. She quickly gained the respect of the others, making sure that whispers of her title dulled down as an act of mercy.

Of course all of her work was undone when she had to fulfil her assigned duties.  
Porrim was dressed in an exaggerated mockery of her former robes, immodestly dressed in silks of crimson and jade, broken cuffs on each wrist shaped in the insignia of her son. Her job was as an ornament, his...'trophy'. The Dolorosa was to stand by his side in his art studio, holding a silver tray decorated with cut flowers, bearing a crystal glass and a bottle of rich wine, as well as an apple and a knife. In between whatever asinine sketches he was scratching out, The Dolorosa was to hand him his glass and refill it every time he handed it back to her. She was also to slice small slivers of apple and place them into his mouth at his request, his hands apparently too delicate for such deeds. But this was of little irritation to Porrim, what really made her want to strangle him was his inane queries! Every question was prefaced with a smug 'So, Dolorosa', that dripped off of his tongue with a drawl, and every question was just as taunting and infuriating as the last.

Luckily for Porrim, her work ended, and after her 'master' shoved his sketch into her face, and after thoroughly cleaning his studio, she was allowed to begin her allotted free-time. She decided to travel down to the kitchens for...a snack, settling on a servant boy who tended to the pantry for...company. She admitted that it was a rather messy affair, but Porrim made sure that he was returned to the pantry with no trouble whatsoever.

In the early hours of the next night, Porrim slid out of her recupracoon and prepared for the work she had ahead of her, already cleaning up any breadcrumbs she may have left behind, as well as having another feast which she promptly cleared up. It wasn't long before her work formally began, and she returned to her 'masters' studio. On that occasion the cuffs on her wrists were actually chained together, and she was made to kneel as she held the silver tray so he could use her as a table. Further humiliating her, her 'master' began to forgo his usual scratchings and instead sketched The Dolorosa on her knees with the tray, instructing her to stay still as he stroked down the pencil lines onto the canvas.

The routine was much the same for a while, Porrim eating and being sure to hide the breadcrumbs before kneeling and being sketched by her 'master', The Dolorsa's fierce gaze unwavering as he drawled on about the jadeblood being his new muse. The other servants caught wind of his twisted affection quickly and grew to loathe The Dolorosa, the once entranced gazes becoming spiteful glares, but this was of little consequence to Porrim, who quickly...cleaned up their attitudes. In fact the problem was cleared up quite swiftly, Porrim admitted, some may say a little too swiftly, but no one even noticed the change, although she did find herself with much more cleaning to do, especially with the lack of other servants to help and how messy of an eater she was.

Luckily for her, her 'master' grew rather obsessed with The Dolorosa and became engrossed in his work, not even noticing how his staff dwindled away, not that it mattered, The Dolorosa was the only troll he saw most of the time anyway. Porrim maintained her glare, but also carried a triumphant grin when she knew he wasn't looking, her plan turning out so much better than she anticipated.

After many moons of nonstop work, he had finally finished his mockery of The Dolorosa, much of his time dedicated to dabbing on delicate swatches of paint and blood, a few of the pigments gifted to him by The Dolorosa herself, her 'master' not in the right state of mind to question her gifts. He claimed that the painting was his magnum opus, hanging the piece in an elaborate frame. Luckily for Porrim she wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath of her influence for all that long, especially with her hunger growing ever stronger.

The manor had the most delicious reek of blood...

Porrim's work there was complete.  
She reached the end of the corridor and took a deep breath, looking over the balcony one last time. Two grand stairwells met in the centre of the room which formed a balcony which overlooked the grand entrance that blended into the ball room, the tiled floor being decadently adorned with a floral mosaic among the spotless white...well, almost spotless. Most of the vast expanse was covered in paintings and murals depicting that loathsome blueblood in different outfits and poses, but luckily for Porrim's eyes, many were of other wealthy trolls, most likely equally foul, but Porrim had not had the displeasure of meeting them. Despite her mood, Porrim could appreciate the beauty of the scenery, the elegant brushstrokes of the painters brush, the immaculate lighting and colours, the glamorous frames.

And the 'magnum opus' of it all hung above the door way. The frame was stained with blue, but the painting was still immaculate. It depicted The Dolorosa on her knees holding a tray with a bloodied knife and an empty cup, decorated with withered flowers. The Dolorosa herself was glowing, her light reflecting off the tray and glass, illuminating the darkness around her and shining through the blood on her skin and making her cuffs appear as they were hot out of the fire. Her eyes were piercing but her fiendish grin betrayed the expression, shining fangs dripping with blood.  
That was not Porrim, that was The Dolorosa.


End file.
